Consumimur Igni
by Siren Calling
Summary: A Curse taints the pirates we've come to love. Can they defeat their greatest foes...themselves? Who will survive and who will FALL to darkness? Or will betrayal be the force holding this tale together? VAMPIRES. T for violence
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The plot is my own... As for the rights to Pirates of the Caribbean. o_o I'm writing **_fan_**fiction.... what do **you **think..?**

**W**arning:

**If the Tale you seek is true love and found** **glory  
Walk away quickly.  
This is not that story.  
For what you attend  
Is a Tale most grim  
Where Vampyres stalk  
And Life is a whim.**

**I shall warn you just once. (So do listen well)  
Walk away now.  
Bid** **this** **Tale a farewell.  
For this Tale to violence has a curious relation  
Sorrow and Blood is its **only **foundation.**

If torture  
Was the lily,  
(delicate and bequeathing the rose-tinted ash)  
Blood was the smell: fleshy

by _A Rogue Decay_

**Prologue**

**Northern Hungary, 1596**

The young countess fidgeted in her chair, unable to keep still. Every now and then she would bring a handkerchief to her eyes to catch whatever tears she couldn't control. She glared at anything in the room with a pulse. She leaned against her vanity and glowered at her chambermaid's reflection. Plain little twit.

"What do you mean he will not come to me?" the woman hissed, referring to her husband who had returned only yesterday. He had not not seen her yet... something which rankled the countess. She was not one to be jilted.

The new chambermaid averted her eyes and absentmindedly smoothed down her skirt. Shaking in anger, the countess stalked over to her chair. Frown lines carved into her forehead as she let loose a litany of _very_ unladylike words. Another maid entered and together they brushed out the countess's long black hair: a daily ritual for the Lady.

Deep in her own mind the countess had more than her husband to be angry at. She had recently celebrated a birthday. The woman scowled again. What a black day that had been. She had been dressed in the finest silks with half of the Hungarian nobility strutting like the pompous peacocks they were. The music and the pageantry; none of it had mattered. She had been in a ghastly mood. Why? Time: how she loathed it with everything within her dark and morbid mind.

The countess's scowl deepened at the memory, and she fixed a particularly venomous gaze on her new maid. Lost in the savage world of her mind, she didn't notice the maid blanch and shuffle to the far side of the room. The countess stiffened, taking deep breaths as a blistering rage augmented her thoughts. Her fading beauty got her blood boiling so much faster than her husband's eccentricities.

"**Ah!_**_Stop_ that!" the countess snapped, rescuing a silky strand from her maid's hand.

"Sorry milady," the poor maid murmured, taking special care to not yank her mistress's hair again. But fate was against the young woman and her hand slipped, jerking the countess's head back. Sharply. With a screamthe countess struck the woman across the cheek, raking her long nails through her flesh. A second passed. A ribbon of blood seeped out of the gash, splattering the back of the countess's dainty little hand as the maid jerked back. The maid ran out of the chamber sobbing.

"_Helena_!" the countess shrieked. A woman came out of the shadows, a cloth already in hand.

"Here milady..." Helena gave the countess the cloth. The countess didn't bother offering up her thanks but snatched the cloth and turned away, rubbing away the girl's blood from her skin. She gasped. The skin the maid's blood had touched was as fair and smooth as it had been in the days of her youth. A verdant glow that left her rapacious.

"Helena!" She was at her side in an instant, ready to follow through with the countess's latest litany of commands. Content, the countess her fingertips over her smooth skin. Helena, with a patience born of years of long-suffering, waited for her to speak.

"Fetch Ficzko and tell him to bring that maid back to me... What was the cursed thing's name?" The countess asked without turning to look the woman, much too occupied with how iridescent her hand looked in the flickering candlelight.

"Licia, milady."

"Yes, yes, I remember now," the countess said dismissively, plaiting her hair. Helena hurried out of the chambers in search of the manservant. Eventually she returned.

"Now. . .you will help me prepare for my bath."

Helena helped the countess step into her robe. Ficzko entered, dragging a panicked Licia behind him. The countess smiled and whispered something into Ficzko's ear. The man didn't move at first. His eyes widened, the color left his face. An eternity later he snapped back to life. He gave the girl a pitying glance before dragging Licia toward the countess's large, ornate bath. A quick movement and a flash of metal across the young woman's neck and she was dead. Her blood drained into the bathtub.

The countess gave a sigh of contentment and ran a fine-boned hand over Ficzko's face in thanks. Dropping her robe, she stepped into the bath, her hands working quickly to spread the liquid over as much skin as possible.

There was a glimmer of light and the countess noticed a fine copper chain looped round the corpse's white wrist. The countess slipped it off and onto her own wrist, admiring the lovely contrast the red metal made against her skin. She leaned back into her wicked bath. Dark sharp thoughts gouged her mind as she plotted and plashed around in the thick liquid, anxious that she simply had nothing to do with her hands.

"Helena!"

Helena bowed her head slightly, almost reverently. She was a squat woman with an unfortunate face, but she was fiercely loyal and knew when to hold her tongue.

"Milady?"

The countess didn't answer immediately. Instead, she cupped her hands and brought the red liquid to her lips and drank. She licked her voluptuous lips slowly, enticingly, her big brown eyes fixated on Ficzko. The poor man looked to be somewhere between blushing at the countess's beautiful form or tearing his wispy hair out by the roots and shrieking.

"Helena... Bring me more candles..." She went back to splashing in the bloody pool. "I want to see myself tonight for once..."

A week later the beautiful young countess paced in her chamber, waiting. A young woman entered the room escorted by Helena and Ficzko. Helena's face, emotionless from years of invective opprobrium, was a sharp contrast to the haunted look in Ficzko's eyes. He stared at the countess through wide somber eyes.

A rather sinister smile played across the countess's face as she took a few small steps toward the young woman. The countess graced the girl with another smile. The countess's dark hair, a rich shiny brown now, had fallen out of place at the nape of her neck and rested on her shoulders.

The countess laid her hands on the young woman's shoulders, her copper bracelet shimmering in the candlelight. Without warning, the countess yanked the woman's hair to the side, exposing her neck. A soft chuckle and the countess leaned forward. She paused for a moment, hesitating. The countess sunk her teeth into the woman's neck and held her still as much as she could. Seconds later the countess stepped back. She nodded to Ficzko.

He picked up the young woman huddled on the floor in a heap of splattered crimson and cloth. She struggled, kicking and screaming. A blow to the head and she stopped moving. After carrying through with this business, the countess had another warm bath to step into. Before bathing, the countess dipped in a goblet and brought it to her lips. Savoring the taste like one would a fine wine, she lowered herself gracefully into the liquid, her copper chain shimmering in the light of the dozens and dozens of candles she had strategically placed around her chamber.

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**Review my fic and I'll review yours!**

**~~Lady of the Mirror**

You've taken the time to read this far. .. how much more time will a review take? ;)


	2. Cura Posterior

**Chapter One: **_  
Cura Posterior_  
a later concern

And still there comes this dark, dark hour --  
Which is not borne of Care;  
Into my heart it creeps _before_  
_I am aware_.

from _The Dark Hour_, by William Henry Davies

"**Jackie**!" a voice hollered, startling a flock of birds into the sky. Reluctantly, a young Jack Teague, not yet the infamous Pirate Lord of the Caribbean, pulled himself out of the sand. Slipping and sliding through the devilishly hot sand, he rushed off the beach, breaking into a full on sprint when his boots hit the meadow grass. It was not wise (or healthy) to keep Captain Edward Teague waiting. He shoved the wooden door open and rushed inside, apprehensive as to what exactly his father was on about now. The expression on the older pirate's face would have terrified the bravest. Jack relaxed, his father was in a wonderful mood today. (You'll want to modify this to 'the older pirate's face' or some such as Teague is not a Sparrow)

"Sit down," he growled. Jack did, immediately. With obvious pleasure, Teague hefted a small chest onto the table. He drummed his fingers on the wood, letting the suspense build. It was a favorite game of his, waiting and drawing things out just to get a rise out of people. The clever lad had learned this game well at a young age, and was content to sit still and quiet as long as his father wanted to. The room began to darken as the sun set. Shadows filled the room and the sun sank, finally overwhelmed by the thickening darkness of twilight. Eventually, the barbarous captain fished a battered skull key out of his coat and opened the chest. He pulled a wooden goblet out and tossed it to his son.

"Happy birthday," he snarled, jumping to his feet. Jack examined the goblet. A carving of intricately woven ivy snaked up the stem and wrapped, intertwining, around the body of the goblet.

"Good luck charm," Teague stated, ripping a tankard and bottle of rum out of a cabinet. He poured himself a healthy portion and slammed the tankard down. Sloshing over the rim, rum splattered the table. He stalked back to his chair.

"Where'd you get it?" Jack asked. He was quite taken with it, truth be told, but a bit bothered by a curious dark stain on the side of the goblet.

"Consider it a gift from your mother," he said, staring at him, daring him to reply.

He dared.

"Oh?" Jack mused, "and where _is_ mother?" He paused, gauging the odd look in his father's eyes before continuing.

". . . 'aven't seen her for awhile," he finished.

"Heh," his father said, getting to his feet, " I'll tell ya when yer older." He glowered, his version of a fond farewell, and slammed the door so hard it rattled in its frame. Jack was left alone to puzzle over the goblet. He was sure it would prove to be a very lucky thing. Oh and it _was,_ perhaps. . . but not for him. Not for him at all.

**Years Later**

Will fiddled with his sleeve in an attempt to entertain himself. Ever since he stepped off the _Black Pearl_, for what was sure to be the last time, he felt like he had nothing to do with his hands. The restlessness was killing him.

"Will?"

He jumped, startled at the sound of Elizabeth's voice in his ear. He turned. She was standing in the doorway, going on about something, but he couldn't listen. As his weather-beaten sleeve finally ripped at the seam, he realized that all he wanted to do was hurt something. The thought surprised him and he knew he should have been shocked, especially since it was Elizabeth he was thinking about! There was a dreadful pounding in his head that grew louder with every breath. He couldn't concentrate. He could barely breath.

He forced himself to pay attention, but then she stopped talking and turned away, her brown hair blowing in the wind as she hurried across the busy street. "As beautiful as a picture," his mother would have said. Will hadn't noticed, he was too busy imagining himself yanking her hair back and slashing her throat to the neck-bone.

**What?!** That thought _did_ make him shudder; it even sent a horde of chills racing down his spine. Suddenly disoriented, he leaned against a stall. The world around him had changed. It was as if someone had turned the clatter and clang of the town up louder and louder, up to par with a cannonade, even. Hundreds of sounds bombarded him: snippets of conversation, the lap of the water against the ships in the harbor, the thumping of goods being passed hand to hand-- he felt he was going mad.

Distracted, Will stepped into the shade of a building. He had been out in the sun far too long and he could feel his exposed skin begin to burn. He shaded his eyes. Not only was the world louder, but everything was coming into a painfully sharp focus: a head-renting headache. The wisp of cloud in the sky didn't do much to soften the sun's rays, and the white dirt reflected the light marvelously, forcing him to squint no matter where he happened to be standing. He felt physically spent, even taking air into his lungs was a battle. He had to fight for every breath. What was wrong with him?

"Look at tha' pretties... See 'ow they bob... up and down... Up and downnn... " a raspy voice muttered into the air. With relief, he left the market square and stepped into a side street. As he wandered farther, the noises of the market faded. Will scowled, covering his nose. Sure, the noises had faded, but now he had the pleasure of the putrid stench of waste. He watched his footing, no need to stumble into a nasty little surprise.

"Ruffians and scugs, scum o' the world... gut meeee.... furrh a preacher...."

Will looked up. An old man, obviously senile, struggled to pull a cart out of a rut in the street. The hilt of a dagger stuck out from under a potato sack. Will scowled, discomfort forgotten. Now the only thing on his mind was the fact that he didn't have his sword on him. He walked toward the man, pulling his face into what he hoped was a genuine smile. He was determined to barter the dagger from him and put it to good use.

The old man was wary, fidgeting and jerking his head to the side as if trying to force water out of his ears. The gnarled beggar stopped his violent movements and stared transfixed at something around Will's arm. Will looked down. There was a copper chain wrapped around his wrist. _Where?_

"I'll give ye ol' Cat'erine here... For that pretty thing thar..." the old man muttered, motioning at the chain.

"... Cat'erine..?" Will repeated, eyebrows raised.

Now it was the old man who looked confused. His eyes dulled. The man pursed his lips in concentration, throwing his wrinkled face into relief as he ran Will's words through his mind. He pulled out the dagger and waved it around.

"It's what ye wanted t'ain't it?" he said, proffering the dagger.

Will gave him the chain, then stomped off, dagger in hand. He got no farther than the road, when he forgot what he was doing and just stood there, looking to the entire world like a boy who had let go of his mother's hand and wandered off too far. He gasped as a spasm of pain racked his body. He put a hand to his heart as another tremor raced through him. A few concerned passersby crowded around, anxious to help. There was a dreadful pounding in his head and every beat sent a new wave of pain through him. His body was on fire.

As quickly as it came, it stopped. How odd. Winded, he swayed on his feet for a few seconds before regaining his footing. Either assured he was fine, or simply anxious to be somewhere else more interesting, the crowd dispersed, melting back into the hustle and bustle of the town as if nothing unusual had happened.

"Will!"

He turned, a smile already on his face as Elizabeth practically threw herself into his arms. Surprisingly, he had regained his strength and didn't stumble back when she hugged him. They shared a quick kiss before she pulled away and stepped back.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes." He couldn't help smiling at the concern in her voice and face. "I don't know what happened.... but it's gone now. I'm fine. Honestly."

"What were you doing over there?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the putrid stench wafting their way. As different as she was from the demure Elizabeth he used to know, remnants of her genteel upbringing still remained. He looked. She pointed toward a particularly seedy alley wedged between a tavern and a brothel. In the alley an old beggar shrieked at a man who had wandered past.

The old man picked up a rock and began bashing the man with it, screaming incoherently the entire time. He disintegrated into a fit of laughter as the man's blood soaked the beggar's threadbare sleeves and stained his hands. The scent was nauseating.

A woman screamed and threw herself onto the corpse, wailing and tearing at her hair. "**NO!** _Why?!_ Come back, _come back_, _don't leave me,_" she sobbed, rocking the man in her arms.

Will felt Elizabeth stiffen in his arms and then begin to tremble. She was crying too. "Shh," he said, pulling her closer, "let's go somewhere else. . ."

"Are you certain you saw me come out of... _that_ alley?" Will asked some time later, after the shock of the murder had passed and they had escaped the terrible scent. He couldn't remember what he had been doing before he saw his fiancé. There was nothing but a dark haze in his mind when he tried to focus on that point in time. What _had_ he been doing?

"Oh! Where did you _get_ that." she said, pointing at a dagger Will was looked down and was just as surprised as she was to see it there. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell her where the dagger had come from either. It was a ridiculously shoddy dagger. What on earth possessed him to buy it? Ah, he was without a _sword_.... but why bother with such a poor dagger? He was just as puzzled by it as his fiancé was. She sighed, then linked arms with him. The taciturn couple walked to the harbor.

The old man, now screaming, staggered into the street. His scarred face twisted into a disturbing, blood spattered smile and his blue eyes winked out sinisterly. Every few steps he'd twitch, contorting in pain as his bony hands scrabbled blindly for something in the air ahead of him.

Blood dripped from his soaked sleeves onto the street, sending up a puffs of white dust. He kept pointing at passersby, beckoning. Watching nothing but the frightened faces of those he would beckon, he didn't notice the boy to his left. The boy stumbled, he fell hard to his knees. The barrel he had been holding rolled out of his reach and into the path of the old man. He tripped, landing directly in the path of two remarkably angry carriage horses. Fortunately for him, it was an instant death. (Hardly what he deserved, but instantaneous nonetheless.)

A crowd of beggars and prostitutes descended on the corpse. Grimacing at the old man's queer smile and bloodied garments, they pulled off anything valuable. A fair complexioned floozy with frizzy red hair picked a copper chain out of the dirt. She held it to her wrist, admiring the look of it against her skin. Satisfied, she spent a few seconds winding the long fine chain around her wrist. Afterward, she walked back to her corner of the street, enticing potential customers all the while.

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This fic was betaed by the Master of Horror himself, K. M. Warth and the sagacious and astute Nytd. Couldn't have done it without you two. Thanks. Grammar, is my mortal enemy. :)

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**REVIEW REPLIES:**

**Paul: **You asked if Jack was going to get tortured? lol. I'd tell you if I could. Mentally, definitely. :) Sparrow's going to be battling his darker self VERY soon. . . *sinister music*

**FreedomoftheSeas: **:) I LOVE long reviews! Thank you. I'm happy you like my writing style. I, personally, hate it. I'm ecstatic my imagery left an impression! I've always thought I was terrible at it.. .

**PM: **Thanks for reviewing. Awesome? Perhaps, in a twisted way. Will I update soon? I work around my stellar beta-reader's schedule. **  
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	3. Tanta Stultitia Mortalium Est

**C**hapter** T**wo**:  
T**anta **S**tultitia **M**ortalium **E**st,_  
What fools these mortals be_.

_"Now, this bell tolling softly for another, says to me: Thou must die." _

_Each man's death diminishes me,  
For I am involved in mankind.  
Therefore, send not to know  
For whom the bell tolls,  
It tolls for thee._

John Donne, "_For Whom the Bell Tolls"_

Captain Jack Sparrow was going to be a _very _satisfied man. He could sense it.

"What's your name, luv?" he murmured, running a hand through the soft red locks of the pretty thing in front of him.

"Ava," she whispered, her warm breath tickling the skin on his neck.

Yes, he was going to be a very happy man. Ava wrapped an unusually cool arm around Jack's neck, raising goosebumps on his flesh. He was happy he found _her, _but wasn't very thrilled about the confounded seraglietto they were holed up in.

"That's a pretty thing you've got there, luv," he said, fingering the fine chain around her wrist before running his hand up her arm lightly. The woman let out a laugh like the peal of bells and drew him closer to her, whispering into his ear.

"Oh?" he said, chuckling, "You don't say?" He pulled her onto his lap. She continued whispering to him and fiddled with the little trinkets dangling from his dreadlocks.

She pulled him to his feet and led him into a dingy hall that reeked of mildew, cheap perfumes and the sea. The hallway, narrow even by a pirate's standards, was a bother to walk through; someone had placed a wardrobe against the wall. The wood, forever stained a blotchy black, and flimsy looking, was rough and pulled at their clothes as they walked by. She squeezed past it.

Jack followed, but not before looking in through the crack in the door and seeing a pale arm spattered in blood. He raised his eyebrows and looked down to Ava. Noticing, she shut the door. Then she pushed him against the wall (he was surprised at how _strong _the petite girl was) and kissed him. Though known for many unsavory things, stupidity was not one of them. Jack Sparrow knew exactly what she was doing: trying to force that glance into the wardrobe out of his mind. Crafty little strumpet. They broke apart and Ava turned down another narrower hallway. She was laughing.

Jack tugged at a dreadlock and frowned. Though no stranger to bloodshed and battle, cold blooded murder repulsed him. He often danced the lines of decency and debauchery with temerarious abandon. But there was one line he knew to the depths of his murky soul, he would never cross. He would never murder and he would never take a woman against her will. Those morals were set in unyielding stone till the end of time. Pirate, brigand, thief, deceiver, liar, vain... those labels he dealt with a smile, a gesture, and a white lie. No harm there.

She turned back to Jack, a very mischievous smile on her face. She opened a door and they tumbled into the room. Water stains decorated the fading wallpaper and gaping holes riddled the ceiling. The threadbare carpet was so old and weak that it came apart beneath their feet, but they were too occupied with each other to notice their surroundings.

Sparrow was surprised at how cold her touch was and noted a harsh fire in her black eyes whenever she looked at him. Jack was expecting to have a _very__nice time.... expectations exceeded...

A good while later a jovial Jack Sparrow walked into the street, destined for the harbor, and beaming.

"Wait!"

Jack turned back, puzzled to see the dainty Ava standing there, grinning and twirling something around her finger. With a few short steps and nimble fingers she looped the copper chain around the bit of lace at his wrist.

"To remember me by," she said, her gaze wandering up and down his person appreciatively before turning on her heels and stalking back to her corner of the street.

Whistling now and quite proud to have yet another trinket on his person, he sauntered up the gangplank and onto the deck of his beloved _Pearl_—crashing into someone.

"Sorry**,**" he muttered, pulling the person to his feet.

"Do you make a habit of knocking down old friends, Jack... or do I have the devil's luck?" a surprisingly _feminine _voice asked, aggravation dripping from every syllable and freezing the air between them.

"Elizabeth!" He sounded anything but delighted. Something akin to ice-cold water was running down his back. Absolute dread was not an emotion he was fond of. He looked into her brown eyes, fancying, briefly, that they were angry.

"Wonderful seeing you again!" Jack muttered, looking horrified.

"_GIBBS!!_" he hollered, before hurrying off in the direction of the answering "Cap'n" and looking thoroughly distressed. His first and foremost concerns now, were the condition of the crates of rum he had loaded onto the ship yesterday... and fighting the nagging feeling that he no longer had anything to do with his hands. The sudden restlessness was killing him.

Without any conscious thought, he went out of his way to walk in the shadow of the mast before going below deck; he felt as if he had been standing too long in the sun and his skin was beginning to burn. Below deck, in the dankness of the hold, he examined his cargo, prying off the tops of every crate of rum he could get his hands on. Breathing hard, he sat down and leaned his back against his crate. He picked up a bottle.

"Aha," he sighed, tearing of the top. The _Pearl_ lurched, Jack lurched with it. The bottle banged hard against a crate, shattering in his hand. He landing in the undulating puddle of room.

"Well," he muttered, squeezing the rum out of his dreadlocks one at a time, "that's not fair. . ." He watched, pouting and irked, as the rum vanished between the cracks in the boards. He cursed, wringing a lock vigorously. Black boots came into view.

"Cap'n?" his first mate said.

"_Don't say it_," the captain in particular said. It didn't matter if he said it or not, he had said it so often the words rang in his head anyway.

"_Did it again, now, didn't ye, Jack?" _Jack scowled at the imaginary dialogue. Joshamee Gibbs, wisely, walked away, muttering something about one last visit to shore he had to make before heaving off... oh, and something about cake. But what did cake matter in light of what had just happened? Rum. Though pleasantly piquant with endless foods.... did _not_ go with the dreads. He grimaced, wringing out the last drop of rum. Well, at least he _smelled_ good.

Rum. _Ah, how he loved_—Elizabeth! His heart pounded, almost bouncing against his ribs in dread. The girl was on board. That's right, that's why he came down to begin with... _Some_ people, he pulled a mortified face, were not to be trusted. Jack, fancied himself an _excellent_ judge of character. Even without his uncanny ability, and general expertize on anything and everything, anyone who burns enough rum to signal an Armada leagues away. . . was not a 'friend'. Oh, and succeeding in killing him wasn't so endearing either. . . Jack let out an expletive, jumped to his feet, and stalked to his quarters in a nightmare of a mood.

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Will, on the other hand, was in a glorious mood. He was enjoying himself now, watching the sun sink into the sea, his arm slung around his fiancé's waist. He had been surprised when she told him she'd had a word with Mr. Gibbs, and that they were going to set sail on the _Pearl _that very night. At first he had been annoyed that she hadn't talked to him first, but Elizabeth didn't take to that argument very well at all.

She insisted that she had told him just that day! Before she saw him coming out of that alley, in fact. Will had no choice but to be fine with setting sail. He forced a smile and a laugh and watched the sunset as the Black Pearl left the harbor and turned to the sea. Truth be told, he was excited to see what adventures were laying just around the corner for them.

They were both silent, enjoying the sunset. The rays played along the edges of the clouds for a moment before fading. He was glad there were clouds in the sky. The sunlight on his face had been a little painful.

Will took in a deep breath, pleased by the picture and peace of the moment. Unexpectedly, Elizabeth leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Happy, he laughed. She looked up at him, smiling, her brown eyes sparkling from the dying sunlight. Their gazes locked and instantly he was angry. _Furious_. It passed and was almost forgotten. Emotions did not rise unbidden in him. They just didn't. What was happening...? He hadn't been like this yesterday.

Shoving his thoughts into the deepest recesses of his mind, he returned her smile with one of his own and a quick kiss on the cheek. Elizabeth laughed. He had gotten so used to just the sound of the waves breaking against the _Pearl _and a rhythmic pulse that any other sound was odd to him

"Will. . . is," she paused, searching his face, " everything alright?"

Inwardly, he sighed. If only he knew. Not wanting to ruin the moment, he smiled, folding her into an embrace. They fit together well.

"Of course," he told her, lying not for the lie's sake but to keep that smile of hers where it belonged, _present_, "why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just. . . You look... your expression just then, was _so. . ."_

"What? You can tell me," His stomach tied itself into a knot and plummeted a thousand leagues. What had she seen in him? His finger twitched in agitation and his hair stood on end. Did she notice? Had his smile dropped just then? Why. . . why wasn't his heart racing? That certainly wasn't normal.

"Your eyes held such a _dark_ look," she said softly, frowning in concern, not anger. Was he alright?

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. Will relaxed. "Oh, it's ridiculous! Forget I said anything, will you?"

"Of course I will," he said. He pulled her into a hug and she shivered. He was cold.

They turned back to watch the last very last of the rays pierce the looming darkness. A second passed, the light was gone. The happy atmosphere was back between them and they laughed and talked about whatever came to mind long into the night, just enjoying one another's company. If either had had any inkling of what was to come, they would have talked all through the night. But they had no way of knowing this and no one can turn back time. A tragedy of mortality; no one can see the future.

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**Hello, my friends! =) Thank you for reading this chapter! It was a pain to write... tell me what you thought of it, life in general, or the odd chocolate food stuff.... :)**

**If your own Pirates fic isn't getting enough reviews... or if you just want _more_, visit my Pirates forum: The Review Factory. =) **

**~~Lady of the Mirror**

**A Hint to the Astute: I didn't just pick the chapter titles at random. They tell more about what's to come than you would think. :) and 'no', I too, don't know how to pronounce them... I just think Latin is amazing. **

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**REVIEW REPLIES: **_(those of you who signed in to review have already recieved a reply. This is mainly for the benefit of the anonymous reviewers... but to be fair, I've replied again to logged in reviewers.... )_

**Hurricane1714: **I'm happy you think this tale has something interesting going on! Better than being boring... =) and yes, the copper bracelet is very important. :) Congratulations. You are the first to pick up on the historical authenticity of the Countess in chapter one! The Bloody Countess of Hungary. Ring a bell? :) thank you for taking the time to review!

**OuzaAthena11:** Will I explain everything later? Of course. That's the plan. Sit tight for now, keep your eyes open, and you never know what you may pick up on... :) I'm a fan of foreshadowing and irony... I have a rather twisted sense of humor with this fic... lol.

**FreedomoftheSeas:** Thank you for your advice and constructive criticisms. They've been noted and stored away in my head. :) I LOVE ending chapters with ominous sentences! =) It's fun.

**Paul:** I'm thrilled you've been anxiously awaiting an update, Paul. :) I'm not quite sure what you meant by _'ok up date all the capters lol'_... but I've edited the first two chapters for grammar, if that's what you meant. Thank you for reviewing! :)

**PirateAngel1286**: ooh. The last chapter was freaky, eh? Freaky, _adj.,_ strange or unusual; freakish._ slang_ frightening_. :) Thank you for the compliment!_

**No Name Given**: thank you for the compliment, but the 'dumb bell' remark was kinda rude and made me sad. =( like this: :'( . I'm happy, :D, you like it so far! I hope you enjoyed this chapter too!

**Nytd**: Thank you for all of your help! I couldn't have done it without you! You gave me a push in the right direction. :) This chapter is dedicated to you, an awesome beta-reader. =) BTW. I decided to leave the word 'temerarious' in the chapter just out of personal preference. Plus, it sounds better than feckless. lol. at least to me. :) Words. I love them!

**foolonthehill**: hehehe. I'm overjoyed you like the direction this is going and hope you can see this chapter in your mind just as vividly. That was the one thing I was going for. Creating a connection between the characters and the reader. :)


	4. Suggestio Veri, Suggestio Falsi

**Author's Note: I warned you once that this tale would be violent. You think what you've read so far was gruesome****...? This chapter is only the first macabre spin in a downward spiral of misfortune.**** Consider yourself warned. :)  


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C**hapter **T**hree,  
**S**uggestio** V**eri, **S**uggestio **F**alsi -  
_An intimation of truth, an intimation of falcity_ .

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,  
Reality's dark dream!  
I turn from you, and listen to the wind,  
Which long has raved unnoticed. What a scream  
Of agony by torture lengthened out  
That lute sent forth!

Excerpted from _Dejection_, by Samuel Taylor Coolidge

Jack, in his cabin, was overwrought and didn't know why. He paced back and forth in rhythm with the sway of the _Pearl_, fingering the hilt of his sword with a.... _freakish_... fondness. How much he enjoyed the feel of the metal against his flesh worried him. But he was more disturbed over the memories of all the people he had had to kill over the years. His mind kept wandering back to the feel of thrusting his sword deep into a living body and feeling the metal become slippery with warm, thick blood... _Disgusti--_

Abruptly, an anger as caustic as the flames of hell enveloped him, burning his mind and assaulting his body as his veins coursed with a searing hatred and adrenaline. There was a knock on his door and the feeling left. Drained, he huffed to get air back into his lungs.

"Yes?" he rasped, still out of breath. He leaned against his table in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.

"Jack! I'd like a word with you." Elizabeth called through the door. Jack cursed and yanked the door open, it rattled in its hinges, banging against the wall with a crack. He frowned, doors didn't usually do that at his touch. He gave a mocking bow as he gestured her into his cabin.

"How," he asked, settling back in his chair, "may I be," he pulled out his sword and began polishing it, "of assistance?"

She scowled and stepped inside, subconsciously running her fingers through her hair. Now _Jack_ scowled.

"You're not going to kiss me again are you? That didn't turn out so well for me last time, you know**,**" Jack stated matter-of-factly.

"Don't be ridiculous**,**" she said, frowning. He rubbed the hilt of his sword with uncharacteristically overeager hands.

"I'm here to talk about _Will_**,**" she stated, giving him a dark look.

"Ah! Getting tired of the eunuch, eh? Come for a real man now, luv?" Jack drawled. "_Sic erat in fatis_." He looked rather threatening with his sword on his lap and wayward smile.

" _What? _No!" she said, glaring again. ("Sic era-- _what_?" , "ah, weak in your Latin, opprobrious! . . . so it was fated--" _slap_.) Jack went back to polishing his sword, amused at the reaction he had gotten from the girl. He sheathed his sword with an appreciative whistle before wandering over to the table. He tuned the girl out for a moment as he rummaged through the alarmingly tall piles of paper, charts, and whatever _else_ he had collected over the years.

"**Aha!" **He pulled out a bottle of the gold stuff, ripped out the cork with his teeth, then swigged a gulp. He spat it out and threw the bottle into a corner. Could rum even **go** bad?

"Did you see Will at all before you were with that, that. . . strumpet?" she asked, disgust written all over her face.

"How'd you hear about _that_?" He raised his eyebrows so high they disappeared beneath his red bandanna.

She gave a haughty sigh. "Oh**,** that doesn't matter. Did you see him or not**,** Jack Sparrow?" She frowned at him, aggravated that no straight answer could be had from him.

"Captain luv, Captain**,**" he insisted, then shrugged his shoulders and gestured vaguely with his hands. He wandered back to his chair, plopped himself right back down and went back to polishing his sword. Rum must'a gone bad, he decided. There was a first for everything. He would know.

"... No. Didn't see him at all," he eventually told her. True enough.

"Why do you ask?" he added on as an afterthought. He didn't really care one way or another. He tilted his sword, watching the light run the length of the blade.

She didn't say anything for a moment. She appeared to be trying to decide how much she wanted to tell him. Finally she sighed.

"I saw him come out of a... questionable part of town..." she finally said, suddenly uncomfortable, shifting her weight from foot to foot and looking anywhere but at him.

"_Questionable?" _he repeated before bursting into laughter. She scowled. The man was capricious.

"You need a drink, darlin'**,**" he said with another wayward smile. He was by her side instantly and leading her by the arm to the door.

"Jack! No. Thank. You," she hissed emphatically, pulling her arm out of his hard grip and glaring again. She rubbed where his hand had been. Her skin was stinging.

The door was closed and he turned to look at her. He was frowning. His fingers clenched and unclenched around the hilt of his sword as he tilted his head to the side, watching her. His other hand trailed along the door. He locked it with a smile. It was a bizarre change of character for the captain and the room, as muggy as it was, seemed to chill. Most unusual was the fact that Jack himself didn't find anything odd about his behavior. It was the most normal thing in the world. Keeping a young woman locked in his cabin against her will. He wasn't troubled at all.

"That's right. Rum, 'a vile drink'. Forgive me. I forgot**,**" Jack muttered.

Elizabeth suddenly felt threatened**,** and surreptitiously reached for her dagger. She inched away from him. The copper chain glittered around his wrist as he sheathed his sword. He had an odd expression on his face.

Without warning and before she even had the time to breath in**,** he rushed at her, shoving her against the wall of his cabin. With one hand over her mouth**,** he prised the dagger from her hand. Her heart seemed to be trying very hard to beat its way out of her chest, although whether out of pure fear or anger she couldn't say. She gave him a black look, furious that she was even in this situation. This was humiliating for a king of the Brethren Court.

He leaned close. His eyes were an empty black, the khol he had smeared around them to protect them from the sun had smudged. Regardless, Jack smiled attractively, removing his hand from her face and managing to close the distance between them more. Elizabeth shut her eyes and turned away. She could feel his warm breath against her cheek and she shuddered.

"Care for that kiss again, luv?" he murmured into her ear, giving her goosebumps.

"I'm sure you liked it just as much as I did... while it was happening o' course. Can't say I enjoyed thinking about it after the fact**,**" he said, still uncomfortably close, resting the blade against her neck gently so as not to cut her. It was close enough to be threatening and deter any sudden movements.

Sparrow shrugged, muttering something under his breath. He shivered, tapping her neck once or twice. His shoulders shook as he burst into laughter. Demented. The man was demented!

"You probably liked it even more than _I_ did though. What with that bloody eunuch you have now..." She could practically hear the glower in his voice.

"Jack!" she said, "stop this nonsense righ--" He stopped _her_ with a kiss. She struggled to push him away until the sharp edge of her own dagger bit into her skin. Jack pulled away. His skin was icy to the touch and she would have shoved him away or at least stopped the blood coming from her neck**, **but his free hand had wandered down to her wrist and she couldn't pull it free. Maybe he was trying to break it. He was holding onto it so tightly her fingers were tingling.

"Jack!" she said in a trembling voice, she was so nervous (and furious at the situation) that she could hear her heart pounding in her head. Jack breathed in deeply, taking in her scent, the smell of her fear. He breathed in again, relaxed by the smell of her blood. He leaned his forehead against hers. To him, the blood was dripping out of her wound at an agonizingly slow pace, beading up and swelling to a large drop, then trickling down slowly, staining her collar beautifully. He didn't find _this_ behavior odd either.

Complaining loudly, she tried to push him away. Jack kissed her again. At first she struggled against him, but it was like pushing against a stone wall--nothing happened, then she began panicking. She needed to breath. He finally stopped, leaving her gasping for air. She had been kissed before so it wasn't the shock of the stolen kiss that bothered her. It was the sudden change in him that was frightening. He let go of her wrist. The reddened skin pulsated and throbbed as the blood rushed beneath it into her hand.

If she hadn't been shocked before by Jack's behavior**, **what he did next was the most shocking of it all. While she was still gasping for air and doing her best to stop the blood flowing from her neck, Jack pulled her hand away from her neck, which was now covered in blood, and put a hand over her mouth. Her eyes widened more at this and there was a hellfire in her eyes—and he sank his teeth into her neck, drinking her blood.

She struggled for what seemed an eternity, but it became harder, like wading through a swamp. Lightheaded and unable to support her own weight she sank to the floor. The pain was mind numbing. Then, something unexpected happened. She cut her hand on something sharp. Her fingers grew warm, slick, sticky from the new cut.

Her mind worked slowly through the haze the blood loss was causing. Her thoughts were disjointed and hard to hold on to. Jack must have dropped her dagger. Her fingers closed around the blade and with all the strength she could muster she swung the hilt against Jack's head. For a split second she was afraid nothing would happen, then he slumped against her. She sighed in relief. Using his weight as leverage, she pushed him off her then just sat there for a long, long time, stunned. . . and mad as a hornet. She _did_ have the sense though to cut off part of her sleeve and make a tourniquet.

She was dizzy and Jack's prone still form swam and wavered in front of her. Reality hit her hard. She closed her eyes. Every horrid tale of vampyrism she had ever heard was running through her head faster than a hurricane; pounding in rhythm with her heartbeat. She opened her eyes, unsure of what to do—**no**. Unsure if she _could_ do it? Yes, that was it. She _knew_ what to do. Could she seriously bring herself to drive a stake through his heart and cut off his head? No, she thought hazily, almost amusedly, she _had_ no stake. She would have to cut off his head then and hope he didn't... wake up... or, or notice in time to stop her. She was dubious, she doubted he wouldn't notice a sword bite through his neck. The stake would have helped and held him down while... she... she...

_She felt sick._ She breathed shallowly. The metallic smell of her blood _everywhere_ was absolutely nauseating. Her hands were shaking violently. The anger had drained, leaving a massive hole where the driving emotion had been. She sucked in a rattling breath. Time and life were slipping away and she didn't know what to do.

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**I'm flattered you've come this far with me! :) Thank you for reading. **

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**Review Replies:**

**Paul**: I'm ecstatic you like my writing! :) ah, love of a story is a wonderful thing. I'm thrilled you like my story so much! and to think, it sat on my computer for half a year before I even considered posting it... lol. Your laconic reviews are motivating. Thanks.

**PirateAngel1286**: I'm glad you liked the last chapter! =) and I agree: Vampires + Pirates = AWESOMENESS! Thank you for taking the time to review!

**Mystical Light**: :( I'm sorry. I can't give anything away about what fate has in store for Will, Jack, and Elizabeth. I wish I could... but I will tell you that double chocolate cake will come up soon... That seems completely random. But, yeah, there WILL be chocolate cake soon. =) I love chocolate cake. mm. Especially with vanilla frosting! :)

_RANDOM cake EXCERPT_: He scowled, he wasn't sharing his double chocolate cake with _any_body--least of all, creepy-britches, standing there looking all emotionally torn and haggard.

**Hurricane1714**: Ah, the bells are ringing, eh? It makes you wonder how this will all come together in the end.... =) I'm happy that so far my plot's captivating enough to earn the label 'interesting'.

**XObeautifulXdisasterXO**: My tale is gruesome and original, eh? Why, thank you very much! :( I'm afraid 'gruesome' will only become more applicable as the words roll on...

**Nytd**: Thank your for all of your help! You're a wonderful beta. =) Kudos to you for seeing the glaring mistakes I miss... no matter how many times I reread!

**FreedomoftheSeas**: Yep. Elizabeth is back.... The rum! Keep it secret, keep it safe! lol :)

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	5. Resurgam

**C**hapter **F**our,  
**R**esurgam-  
_I shall rise again._

_AWAY! the moor is dark beneath the moon,  
Rapid clouds have drunk the last pale beam of evening:  
Away! the gathering winds will call the darkness soon,  
And profoundest midnight shroud the serene lights of heaven.  
Pause not! the time is past! Every voice cries, 'Away!' _

_. . . The leaves of wasted autumn woods shall float around thine head,  
The blooms of dewy Spring shall gleam beneath thy feet:  
But thy soul or this world must fade in the frost that binds the dead,  
Ere midnight's frown and morning's smile, ere thou and peace, may  
meet. _

Excerpted from _Remorse_, by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Jack's head moved. She hit him again then leaned back against the wall. Even if she _could_ bring herself to decapitate him she didn't have the strength for it; her grip on the dagger was dangerously lax. The bloody blade rested on his wrist and a line of blood appeared across his skin. She grimaced, mulling over what to do.

She could call for Will. He would come and kill him in a heartbeat if she asked him to. He had never counted Jack as one of his friends and if he just happened to find out Jack had become one of the undead (_and hurt his __fianc__é_), _he_ would have no qualms killing him. But could she do that? Jack, even with all of his idiosyncrasies, was still a friend.

She picked up the dagger, noticing the tiny _ping _as the sharp blade caught on a copper chain around Jack's wrist, breaking it. Gasping as the tourniquet brushed against her wound, she pulled off the red chain. It was a pretty thing and she started to put in in her pocket. The movement hurt her neck though, sending a spasm of pain shooting through her. At the same time Jack's body shuddered. She checked him, he was still out cold.

Dropping the copper chain onto her lap, she put a hand to the tourniquet. It was soaked to the touch. She pulled away her hand. It was covered in blood just like the other one she had used to _first_ stop the flow. She was miserable and angry again. Very, very angry. She needed help.

"_Will!_" she called out. The shout took a lot out of her and she slumped down even more against the wall, dizzy. Then she waited.

"Will!" she called again and again. He didn't come and it was getting harder and harder to find the breath and the strength to scream out a name (she called for others too, she just wanted someone—_anyone_ to come help her). She called until she couldn't anymore. Her head was pounding. No one ever came. . . her voice had barely left the room.

Will had heard her screaming for him and right now he was leaning against the railing, watching the sea and wincing every time he heard his name. Eventually, she started calling other names, screaming for help. He had even walked to the door and stood at it, trying to decide whether or not he should walk in and try to help her. He didn't know if he could do it—_help_ her, that is. Because he could smell it, smell it so strongly even though he was standing as far away from her as he could get on deck. Fresh blood. It took everything in him, every shred of decency and love he had for the woman to not break down that door and drain her dry. He blanched, he repulsed himself.

At least he didn't hate her like he had this morning. He shuddered at the memory of how much he had wanted to kill her, to cause her pain. He remembered now what he had been doing before Elizabeth found him again. It had come to him while he was talking to Gibbs. Gibbs had said something... What was it? 'It's what ye want... T'ain't it?' and everything, every thought and emotion of those hours came rushing back to him, making him stagger under the force. He had muttered something about seasickness to Gibbs and rushed on deck where he _did_ lose the little he'd eaten that day.

She wasn't calling him anymore**,** which was good. It was so much harder for him to not go to her when she was screaming for him. He could smell more blood, and that worried him almost as much as it was intoxicating him. He didn't _hate_ her anymore—he just wanted to drink her blood. And that would _kill_ her. Which would have been a bad thing.

He knew what he was, though, and it scared him. He was a vampyre! He didn't know how or why, but he _was _one. He would just have to deal with it. Deal with the pounding—the palpitating hearts of every person who passed him—for as long as he could. Pintel walked past, lugging a cannon ball for some unfathomable reason. Will winced; he had clenched his hands so hard to keep from attacking Pintel that when he finally relaxed, his nails had bit into his palms, decorating them with four bloody crescents each.

The room was going in and out of focus. A wicked blackness had crawled in while she was trying to breathe, and rested on the edges of her vision, taunting her. She was happy to be sitting down when the room took another spin before her eyes. She didn't want to faint with Jack so close. Amazingly, though he was a breath away, she didn't notice Jack move again—although, it was a very, very slight movement so no one else would have noticed it either. He had woken up and was laying there, eyes open, doing his best to keep still and breath evenly. His head was turned away and his dreadlocks had fallen over his face; he was about 60 percent sure that whoever was sitting there couldn't see him, whoever that was.

It was all instinct he was acting on. He had awoken to screaming behind him. . . and one hell of a headache. He was confident anyone else would have done the same thing. He kept perfectly still, there was no reason for reckless behavior. He had decided long ago that, when facing death, it didn't matter how brave, witty, or generally impressive you were in your last moments. Dead was dead, and a macabre state of being he had no intention of attaining.

He frowned; it was as if someone had taken a cloth and erased the slate of his mind. But his eyes were open—and he almost wished they weren't. He was staring at his reflection. . . in a pool of blood, inches from his face. He did notice _one_ thing, from what he could see from his vantage point he was in his cabin on the _Pearl_. But why was he on the _floor? _

Should he call for anyone? He shot down and strangled that idea pretty quickly. No, until he figured out what was happening he wouldn't call for anyone. He was much too disconcerted by the gaping hole in his memory, and calling for help hadn't helped his companion very much, now had it?

What he _did_ remember about the day, was being with the beautiful Ava, then—no, that was about it, he could remember nothing else. How did he get here? Whose blood was he laying in and why could he taste it in his mouth? It wasn't _his _was it? He didn't _feel_ wounded. In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time. His heart sank in his chest as he was distracted from his thoughts. He had realized two things. The voice, he recognized it and secondly, the blood, it tasted so. . . _good_ to him.

Repulsed, he pushed the second revelation into a shadowy corner of his mind and focused on the first one, the safe one, the owner of the voice. It was the rum-desecrater, Elizabeth's voice. She was breathing heavily, every other second he felt a steadying hand on his leg.

Elizabeth's vision was becoming murky, as if she were under water, sinking into blackness. She couldn't focus on anything and her head was pounding for lack of oxygen. She fainted. Faster than the time it takes to blink, Jack had turned over, sat up, and caught her before she hit the floor. He frowned. He shouldn't have been able to move that fast.

She was covered in fresh blood, he could smell it. He started looking for the source, but his mind was elsewhere. What was that pounding sound? It was a soothing beat—and slowing down. He breathed in. Blood, he could smell it. Oddly, he didn't feel nauseated. He chalked that disturbing fact up to his years of experience as a pirate. He'd seen his gory share. He noticed the tourniquet around her neck and pealed it away from her skin. The tourniquet was soaked.

He gently pried the dagger from her fingers**;** it was easy, she had a slack grip, and cut his sleeve, making a new tourniquet. He tied it around her neck, trying not to strangle her, then applied pressure with his hand to her wounds. There were two wounds, something that looked suspiciously like a bite mark and a stab wound. He'd been a pirate long enough and in enough fights to know a stab wound when he saw one.

Unable to help himself and disturbed by how much he was enjoying watching her blood run down her skin, his gaze wandered to her lap where something shiny caught his eye. A copper bracelet. Figuring she must have either taken if off or it had fallen, (and because he didn't really have anything _else_ to do) he picked it up and wound it around her slender wrist. There were dark purple bruises on her wrist and looking closer**,** he noticed that the tops of her arms were a mottled purple.

His fingers brushed her skin and he was surprised at how much warmer it was compared to his own**,** even though she had lost so much blood. Staring at her pale skin**, **he was reminded of Ava, she had pale skin too... though probably not because of severe blood loss... and she definitely wasn't so battered. His mind wandered some more, reliving his more exciting moments with Ava. He smiled rather forlornly, turning his attention back to the woman in front of him right now. He sighed, he could go get someone, anyone. Maybe the eunuch was around. He grimaced**. **What would he do, then? Oh, don't mind me, I just woke up covered in blood.... hers, as it were. Funny thing, that. I can't really say _how_ this happened. The memory's rather lacking at this inconvenient time.

Ha. Believable. Even _he_ couldn't talk his way out of this one.

The tourniquet, once white, or, at least as white as his dirty, threadbare shirtsleeve _could_ be, no longer had blood blossoming across it. The bleeding was beginning to stop... and so was the pounding. When he woke up it had been much faster...

_Thump. . .thump. . . . . .thump. . . . . .thump. . . . . .thump. . . . . . . .thump. . . . . . . . . .thump. . . . . . .thump. . . . .thump..._

He had a feeling it was going to stop altogether. He didn't want it to. The sound was so soothing to his ears. He startled, mentally kicking himself. He hadn't once checked her pulse! He cursed. He knew better than that. That was one of the first thing you were suppose to do when you came across an injured person... check for a pulse. He did. He was silent for a time, stunned. Her pulse matched the pounding he was hearing. It was still slowing. He came to his senses and began shaking her gently, trying to wake her up. Maybe if she woke up...

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth wake up! Here me, luv? Come now! Be a good lass and wake up for me."

It felt like hours had passed before she finally opened her eyes. She opened them slowly, as if her eyelids were heavy as gold and it was all she could do to keep them open. She was looking right at him, but her eyes weren't focusing. He'd seen that look before, on the haggard faces of dying men. The life in her eyes would be gone soon, replaced by the empty gaze of the dead.

He kept talking to her, trying to get some sort of response out of her that would show she could hear him. She looked at him, taking in his face, probably trying to figure out who exactly she was looking at. Jack realized she was saying something, something about being cold. It didn't matter that he had had problems with her in the past, even that she had burned all of that rum that one time. She was dying, he wasn't heartless. He pulled her closer to him, trying to warm her. It didn't seem to do any good though, she was still shaking. She would be dead soon. Fleetingly, he wondered if there was time to seek out the whelp, forget the consequences. Her heart skipped a beat, then slowed again, struggling to keep itself going, keep the blood pumping. There was no more time. He stroked her hair, muttering comforting things, trying to make her passing easier.

_thump. . . . . . . . . . . .thump. . . . . . . . . . . __. . . . . . . .. .thump. . . . . .. . . .. . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . thump. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . ._

He never heard her heart beat ever again. Elizabeth Swann was dead... or so he thought. He wouldn't be too sure in an hour.

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**Again, you've made it this far! Wonderful, simply wonderful. :) Now, what did you think? **  


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** Review Replies **

**PirateAngel1286**-- Ghastly? I'm sorry... this chapter wasn't much better in the 'ghastly' arena... Jack scared me too! I don't understand why, because I'm the one who wrote him like that in this fic! :) Thank you for your faithful reviews! :)

**Rick-**- It's always nice to have a new reviewer! :) Welcome! I agree. Generally, hitting a vampire in the head with a dagger won't do anything... but Jack, in that chapter was still alive, not a full vampire yet. :) It's okay though, I only mentioned blood coursing though his veins once. I so would have missed that! =D Good point though. Maybe I'll rewrite and make that clearer. Thank you for drawing that to my attention!

**hurricane1714**-- Whoops. Sorry to have distressed you! :) Don't fret! This chapter's title is Resurgam; I will Rise Again. :) and certainly the last line was encouraging? 'Elizabeth Swann was dead... or so he thought. He wouldn't be too sure in an hour.'

**Paul**-- :( I'm sorry! I didn't mean to lose you! Sure, one piece o' the Vampire pie claims one cannot become a member of the Undead unless bitten... but I'm messing with a whole 'nother piece of the pie altogether... artistic license and what not. :) To bring you outta the darkness of confusion here's a lamp: pay attention to the bracelet. It's more than a petty trinket I've fixated on and decided to describe all o' the time. =) I hope I haven't lost you completely! Give me a chance? =) It will make sense soon!

**XObeautifuldisasterOX-**- *clap, clap, clap* here, have a round of applause for the wonderful review! Cheered me right up outta my gloom. You've brought up an interesting point. Yes, everything is not as it seems... =)

**Nytd**-- Thanks for the betaread! I'm excited about the direction this tale is turning... so many possibilities to explore till the end! The journey's half the fun!

**MAY**-- You miss Barbossa, eh? :) ... as of now he's not written in... but I can always throw him in! I may, just for you! =) ;)

**Crystalyna du Starrvan**-- Welcome! I'm happy you wondered this way! I hope you liked the chapter. :)


	6. De Inimico Non Loquaris Sed Cogites

Chapter **F**ive:

**D**e **I**nimico **N**on **L**oquaris **S**ed **C**ogites -

_Don't wish ill for your enemy; plan it_

I was angry with my friend:  
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.  
I was angry with my foe;  
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

Excerpted from _A Poison Tree_, by William Blake

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Joshamee Gibbs sank bank in his chair, letting the front two legs lift from the floor then clatter back down in a haphazard rhythm. He squinted at the half empty bottle of rum on the table then rubbed his eyes when the galley started spinning around him. Just then the _Pearl_ tilted hard to the side—or maybe that was just him, as he was now becoming intimate friends with the floor. Exhausted by the day's labor and one too many bottles of rum he slipped into a dead sleep.

The door creaked open as Will stepped inside, scowling as if the whole world was against him. The pungent odor of rum washed over his as he knelt next to Joshamee. He rolled him onto his back and appeared to watch his chest rise and fall with each breath. But it wasn't watching he was doing, but _listening_. Gibbs's heart continued to beat as steady as a drum. He closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm.

Will never knew how long he sat there listening, enraptured by the sound of a strong heart pumping blood through the man's veins. Gibbs's eyes twitched and flicked back and forth beneath his eyelids as he began to dream. Breaking the rhythm, his heart beat raced for a second. Only a second. For that was all the time it took for Will to open his eyes, whip out his knife and plunge it deep into his sleeping friend. Who, incidentally, wasn't sleeping for much longer.

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It had been the pounding in his head that had pushed him over the edge, not to mention the burning thirst in his throat. Will felt he would die or tear the ship apart plank by plank if he couldn't get what he wanted, what he _needed_. And the smell, oh the smell of her blood, Elizabeth's blood. Calling him, whispering in his mind, making his mouth water. It called him, just beyond the door to Jack's cabin. He stood as far away from it as he could get, trying not to breath in the scent.

Then, he had noticed Gibbs. Paranoid superstitious Gibbs sneaking off the deck. Will followed. It was surprisingly easy to him. All he did was follow the pounding—then, there was the sound of a door slamming and a key jingling in a lock.

The lock wasn't a problem. He _had_ been a blacksmith, hadn't he? He began coaxing the lock to release—the trick was doing it quietly and not alerting Gibbs. He didn't want anyone showing up if Gibbs should get spooked and shout for someone. Though Will seriously doubted it. He heard a dull thud and the clatter of wood hitting wood. The sent of rum seeped under the door. He suppressed a laugh—Joshamee was probably out cold on the floor. Will mentally congratulated himself when the lock gave and he was able to slip in unnoticed.

He allowed himself a small breath before wrenching the knife out of his friend. He licked the blood from his fingers before being possessed by a bestial need for more. Waving away Gibbs's attempt to fight back in his drunken stupor, he sank his teeth into his neck. Warm blood bathed his tongue and he finally felt alive. Unwittingly, he had taken the first step in a downward spiral of death that could only end in tragedy.

* * *

***hides face in shame* I feel SO BAD for not updating for FIVE MONTHS! -_- **

**I'm very sorry. :( To make it up to you all I will be posting the NEXT chapter in, oh, three days. :) This one is short. . . geh, I'm sorry. It sucks, I know. *winces* The next one is long and we FINALLY get to see what's happened with Jack and Elizabeth. :) **

**REVIEW REPLIES**

**MysticalLight: **You mentioned it's about time for a meaningful chat between Jack and Will. :) I think I agree. I don't have one written already 'cause of the way the plot has gone. . . but if I find a good place for one I'll squeeze it in. ;) This fic takes place _after _AWE. . . but I've thrown out the facts that Will is now Captain of the Dutchman and Will and Elizabeth are married.

**Princess Moanna**: yes, I am loving the angst, too! :) You're hoping for Willabeth fluff, eh? I suck at fluff, but if I can fit it in I will. ;) Just for you. :D I love your penname by the way!

**NYTD**: Aw, thanks. :D I'm a bad person for not updating after that evil cliffie. -_-''

**Freedom of the Seas**: Thank you. :) Your insights are always appreciated.

**Fool on the Hill**: Barbossa IS a cool character, isn't he? Quite the antihero. I'm sorry you're lost. . . I am sort of lost as well. Hm. Oh, wells. lol. Thank you for the review. :D

**Crystalyna du Starrvan:** :) I hope it gets interesting. *yawn* I'm rather bored. This is such a. .. disappointing chapter.

**Thebrokenbiscuitcompany**: I'm glad you like it! erm, no, it's not finished. I just got attacked by life in general and sort of, um, stopped updating for a while. But I'm back! :D

**MorganBonny**: LOL. Thank you. :D I love it when my hints are picked up on. :) I shall do my best to keep everyone in character as much as I can given the circumstances. :)

**Jack**: ;) Thanks for the encouragment. It's what woke me up. :)


	7. Pulvis Ut Umbra Sumus

Chapter Six

Pulvis Ut Umbra Sumus -

We are dust and shadow. (Horace)

I like a look of agony,  
Because I know it's true;  
Men do not sham convulsion,  
Nor stimulate a throe.

The eyes glaze once, and that is death.  
Impossible to feign  
The beads upon the forehead  
By homely anguish strung.  
~~_ Emily Dickenson_

* * *

Jack was horrified. He had been sitting there on the floor, his back against the wall, cradling the dead girl in his arms, when he felt like he had been hit with a ton of bricks. Repeatedly. He recoiled in horror as the memories flooded him. The locked door, the kiss, and then, then... Jack shuddered, his face as pale as a corpse. He had drunk her blood. Her blood. He _drank_ it. He _attacked_ her then had the nerve to try and comfort her as she died from what he did. Some comfort _that_ must have been to her. Being cradled in the arms of your death? He was horrified and completely repulsed by himself.

Why? What would make him do that? He could understand _kissing_ her...to a degree; he _was_ attracted to her... the same way he was to virtually everything _else_ he couldn't have, but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn't force himself on her. At least it didn't go _too_ far. Jack winced. It had gone far enough. He had seen how badly bruised she was and remembered that was done while he had kissed her, not when--

He shuddered again.

But her blood? What in the world would make him do _that_ to her? He groaned, cradling his head in his hands. He remembered how much he had enjoyed the taste of it. And to take so much that she'd die from it? Something clicked in his mind and his world took a sharp turn for the worst.

Hearing her heart beat, drinking her blood, his icy touch, his thirst for blood. He was a vampyre! He groaned again, leaned his head back against the wall, and stared at the ceiling.

Something moved._ In his arms_. He looked down and could only stare in incredulity as Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked up at him.

* * *

Gibbs had struggled at first, even begun screaming, but Will had the sense to put a hand over his mouth to stifle his cries. Soon he didn't struggle as much and Will backed away. He stared, feeling nothing at all as he watched Gibbs struggle to stem the blood flow.

Will gasped and stumbled back, reality setting in. What had he done? _What had he done? _Will rushed to him putting his own hand to Gibbs' neck to stop the flow.

He had taken too much. There was nothing he could—

Not even sure where the idea had come from, he slit his wrist and forced Gibbs to drink his blood. He _had_ to force him; Will was surprised at how much strength the man had mustered to try to push him away. Satisfied he had drunk enough to change him, Will backed away, wondering if he should wait or leave. What Gibbs didn't have in energy to spare in words he made up for with a black look. He loathed him. He was in pain. Will could see it. Feeling terrible for what he was doing to Gibbs--letting him remain conscious for so long—he hit him on the head, knocking him out. Hopefully, until he died. Gibbs's head lolled, his shoulders relaxed; he could have been sleeping if not for the blood spreading and staining his collar as his feeble heart kept on beating.

* * *

Jack still stared. Even when she'd sat up (still in his lap with his arms wrapped around her, but neither of them noticed) and said something he didn't respond. He was telling himself that she was an illusion, something his mind concocted to either make him feel better or even _more_ guilty—it could go either way. Finally, he began to accept what he was seeing as being true. She was confused. He could tell that much. After a few questions he'd asked her (he'd asked them in such a mournful tone and with such a crestfallen face that she was convinced that half the world must have died or all the rum had dropped off the face of the Earth), he realized that she didn't remember today at all. Even after letting a few words slip to gauge her reaction to them and see if she truly remembered, he got nothing.

A part of him was amazed at how guilty he was right now. Even so, he couldn't bring himself to tell her what had just happened to her, why she was covered in blood, why they were alone together and so close. None of which she noticed until he pointed them out. He had muttered something about her and Will deciding to go on _The Pearl _for a while.

"_What?"_ Elizabeth interjected, "Jack! How long is a while?"

"Oh.. You know, love. A few days, weeks, maybe a month or two..."

"I can't believe that! Where's Will?"

He mentioned nothing else about that day. He figured that she would remember sooner or later. Preferably later. He wanted to... deal with everything first himself or at least wrap his mind around what in the world was happening to him. A vampyre! He tugged on a dreadlock as he was wont to do in stressful situation.

His gaze flicked down briefly, again noticing the blood decorating the floor, there clothes, his hands. He shivered and pointed out just how close they were. She backed away to a much more modest distance, even slipping in the blood a little, splashing her legs. She looked down. Seeing that her shirt was almost completely covered in blood, and the puddles on the floor, she didn't react at all how he expected her to. She looked at him next, taking in the blood on his clothes and the bloody tourniquet in his hand. Her face was emotionless. No fear, repulsion, or even curiosity as to how she had gotten into this situation.

She knelt down and ran her fingers through the blood on the floor. She brought her hand close to her face, watching the blood run down her pale fingers. Jack watched too, paying even more attention than Elizabeth; after all, _he_ had tasted it, and no matter how much he tried not too, he wanted to go to her and lick the beautiful liquid off of her fingers. He even considered it. He remembered how quickly he had moved to catch her when she'd fainted and knew that if he wanted to, he could be inches from her bloody hand in less than a second. The copper bracelet, still twined around her wrist, glimmered in the candlelight as a red drop spilled onto it, running along the chain for a moment before dripping to the floor. He could still reach--

His eyes widened. For the second time in the hour he was staring at her, stunned and unbelieving at what he was seeing. She had beat him to it, licking the blood off her hands and looking like she thoroughly enjoyed it. He had only one thought.

_Oh no. . ._

* * *

**Yes, well. . . that was a chilling bit of macabre writing, wasn't it? Um, sorry for updating in two weeks instead of two days. . . I got shipped off to a camp in the middle of nowhere. (Long story, not interesting in the least.)**

**Unfortunately, the computer that has the document for the next chapter is in a different country and, uh, I dunno when I'll be able to get to it. O_o I will upload the next chapter as soon as I possibly can! 'kay? :D**

**Review Replies**

**PirateAngel1286--** Yes, I quite agree. Dark!Will is exciting! :D as long as he's not coming after you, that is. LOL. I shall update as soon as I can! :D

**Jack--** Is your name really Jack? I just thought I'd ask. :D I'm glad you like the direction I'm heading... just wait, Tia Dalma will make an exciting appearance soon. . . ;)

**Princess Moanna--** Pan's Laberynth fan, eh? Kudos to you! :D I'm going to really really try to work in the Willabeth fluff if I can! :) If I'm feeling confident enought to attempt it, then I will. :)

**Beautiful Disaster--** (I shortened your username. Sorry. lol) I'm glad I finally updated. I'm really an idiot sometimes.

**Cheatou--** Arrgh! :D Unending joy is totally awsome, cheatou. :D I'm glad you feel that way about my story. :D


	8. Nemo Nisi Mors

**C**hapter **S**even  
**N**emo **N**isi **M**ors  
_No one if not death._

Out of the day and night**  
**A joy has taken flight;**  
**Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar,**  
**Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight**  
**No more--Oh, never more!_  
Excerpted from a poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

* * *

_

Joshamee Gibbs regained consciousness slowly, pulled into reality by a throbbing pain in his neck, and a deafening heartbeat thundering in his ears. Gibbs opened his eyes and blinked, trying to pull the dark room into focus. The details sharpened, and he realized he was staring at a ceiling; it wasn't the room that was dark but the wood that was painted black. He was in the _Pearl_ then.

The ship tilted as he sat up, looking around the galley. Well, it was a start. Now if he could only remember _how_ he got here he would be getting somewhere. He tried to lean back, resting on his hands, but his hands slipped and he banged his head against the floor as the ship rocked. He looked at his hands, saw that they were slick with blood, and looked down. His shirt was covered in it as well. He pulled at his shirt absently. _Odd_, he thought to himself, too dazed to be disturbed.

"What's that pounding sound?" he muttered, pulling himself to his feet then grimacing in disgust as a repugnant odor reached him. He looked for the source. There, on the table, was a chocolate cake. He grimaced again, feeling nauseous at just the thought of eating it. The thumping he was hearing slowed then suddenly stopped. Instantly dizzy, his hand clenched around the back of chair to steady himself when someone sighed.

"Will! What are you doin' here?" Will buried his head in his hands and sighed again. Gibbs frowned, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright, boy?" He looked terrible.

"I'm sorry..." Will said, his voice breaking. "for what I did to you." Gibbs looked confused.

"What do you--" Like it had in Jack's mind, everything clicked. Without warning, Joshamee pulled back his fist then let it connect with Will's face with a sickening crack. Breathing heavily, eyes wide in madness, Gibbs stormed out of the room, shouting profanities in all the languages he knew and some he didn't.

Will's eyes watered, his face burning. He gasped wetly, blood filling his mouth and running over his lip and down his chin. A pain induced haze of stars clouded his vision as he stumbled forward, knocking over a chair and sending a bottle of rum shattering on the floor. He tentatively brushed his fingertips against his jaw. The jaw bone was completely broken, half of it jutting through his cheek. Shaking in pain, he fell hard to his knees and wrenched the shattered pieces of bone back into place one at a time. Five minutes later he stood up, stretched, and yawned. He swallowed the blood in his mouth and wiped his face with his sleeve. Hatred flared up, spreading through him like a poison, burning away any guilt or sorrow he had had as the vampire in him started to take over. He glared at the door and his hands balled into fists. _Gibbs_, he thought, _you should not have done that_.

* * *

Elizabeth's eyes widened and her bloody hand began to shake. She had just drunk her own blood. Wide-eyed, she pulled at her hair, stared at him, at the blood on the walls, and shuddered. She licked her lips, winced, and looked at her hand for a second before looking back at him.

"What did you do to me?" she screamed, then slid down to the floor and sobbed into her arms.

_"What did you do to me?" _she repeated, over and over again, as if repetition would murder the truth. Angry tears streaked down her face and she punched the wall. She knew the name of those dark creatures that had been preying on humanity since the dawn of time, drinking blood and spreading murder and hatred. They were a vampyres and, inexplicably, she was now one of them.

Jack sighed and sank into a chair, hiding his face in his hands while she continued sobbing and muttering angrily. With each outburst, Jack winced, guilt tying his stomach in knots and yanking tightly. _Should I say something? _He wondered, dismissing the idea quickly when he caught her glaring at him through her tears. Her stare chilled him to the bone, and his heart became heavy and thudded into his stomach. Why, for the love of all things good, did he not struggle to restrain himself?

Suddenly, a thought hit him hard. He peered between his fingers. Blood covered the floor and was splattered on the walls, not to mention himself and the girl. They were a mess. He had been so distracted by Elizabeth 'waking up', that he had completely forgotten that he was covered in blood. Jack scowled. They needed to clean up before either left. Living, if he could even call his existence that, would be difficult enough without being found soaked to the bone in a blood drenched room.

Jack looked to see if Elizabeth was watching him, but she was leaning against the wall, sleeping again, apparently. He stood up slowly, eying her warily. Her chest rose and fell evenly; she was definitely asleep. Still, he put a hand over the noisier of his hair ornaments and walked softly. He inched the door open, and winced when the wood creaked in protest and the hinges squeaked._ Nothing but darkness out there_, he thought, _good_, it was still night.

He cast an experienced eye to the moon, noting it's position. Not much past midnight, he thought. No one would come looking for him till morning. He grimaced, remembering the sting of the sunlight on his flesh. Oh, joy, he couldn't wait for another problem to appear. Taking care to tread lightly and not breathe out of habit, he slipped out of the room.

He stopped, pulled a set of keys from his belt, and locked the door. _It wouldn't be good if Elizabeth in all her bloody glory, no pun intended, was wandering around, telling tales__,_he thought, easing his wounded conscience a bit before sneaking off in search of a tub.

Below deck, the ship was eerily quiet except for the occasional thump or clang. Whatever was making that racket didn't matter as long as he wasn't found covered as he was in blood. He started to pass a door, but froze when he heard another thump, a muffled curse, a squelching sound, then—nothing. He released the breath he had been holding, the scent of blood suddenly heavy in the air. He glanced at his bloody shirt and pants, blaming them for the head stench. The coppery scent was far more potent than he would have thought possible.

If he had opened the door he would have found the true source of the stench, but he kept walking instead. A line of blood seeped from beneath the crack in the door to where his foot had been only seconds before.

He was surprised -and only slightly put off--that it took him so long to find an old tin tub. It was hidden behind a crate of rum, and if the cobwebs and dirt caking the inside of the tub were anything to go by, he'd say it hadn't been used in a long time—especially not by him. He hefted the crate aside and grimaced at the rum, the thought of drinking the liquid turned his stomach. Filling the tub with water and grabbing some soap. He grimaced at the soap too, he had _never_ been fond of the stuff. he walked back on deck. Only slightly inconvenienced, having to hold the tub and soap in one arm while trying to unlock the door, he opened the door nearly as quietly as he had the first time, and stole into the room.

He started peeling off his shirt. Her blood had dried, hardening the material and flaking off as he pulled the shirt slowly over his head, taking special care to not disturb his dreadlocks. He didn't want blood on them. He had an uneasy feeling that the blood would be rather difficult to remove. Blood just did not go with the hair at all.

"What are you doing?"

Shirt halfway off, Jack froze, peering through a hole in his sleeve. Realizing how odd he looked right then, he pulled the shirt off completely, rolled it up, and tossed it onto the table. Unable to help himself, he laughed.

"Don't look so scandalized, love." He picked up a rag and dipped it into the soapy water. He wrung it out, choosing to ignore the oh so scandalized look on her face.

"In case you haven't noticed, darlin'. . ." He paused, rocking back on his heels out of habit. "But you and I are an unequivocal _mess_." The wet rag made a squelching sound when it hit his skin, and he started scrubbing the blood off of his arms.

"I'm just taking my shirt off. . . but if you want anything _else_ to come off I'd be more than happy to oblige--"

"**No**! _Ick_. You are _unbelievable__._" She covered her eyes and turned away. " You make me sick!" she snapped. She stood at the far end of the room for a while, making a point of just how disgusted with him she was just then.

"There's another rag, you know."

She sighed, soaked a rag, and wrung out the water with a vengeance, then began scrubbing at her neck. She soaked the bloody rag again and pulled it tight.

"What did that rag ever do to you?" Jack muttered. She scowled and gave the rag an extra tug for good measure.

"I'll need my clothes," she said, attempting to scrub blood off of her sleeve and failing. "_These_ won't. . . do. . ." Her voice faded as she stared at the blood everywhere and a burning thirst made its presence known. When she tore her gaze away, Jack was pulling on a cleaner shirt. Her nose wrinkled, she could smell it from where she was standing, but at least it wasn't covered in blood. He opened the door.

"I'm the cleaner of us _now_, Lizzie dear." He beamed.

". . ."

He returned minutes later and tossed her clothes next to the tub before making a lascivious comment or two. After a few choice words and a candle stick almost colliding with his head, he left again, letting her wash up and change in privacy. Listening till she could no longer hear him, she glowered at the door. She had a lot more blood to scrub off, and she'd be flayed alive before she would let that man watch her. Hours and hours later, together they'd scrubbed every last speck of blood off the floor and walls.

It was terrible for Elizabeth. She could smell the blood, and it was only the magnitude of her repulsion for herself that she didn't lick it off the floor. Jack didn't seem to be nearly as tortured over it. When she asked he had muttered something about having fed enough. One last scrub, and the floor was clean. She leaned against the wall and looked around the room. Not a speck of blood in sight. Jack yawned and collapsed onto his bed, and moments later he was snoring. She kicked him to try and shut him up, but he only got louder. Breathing must be a hard habit to break, she thought, leaning her head against the wall. Her eyelids were as heavy as lead, and before she knew it she was being shaken awake.

"Come on. Can't stay cooped up forever, love." Taking her by the arm, he started leading her toward the door.

"I can't!" She pulled away and in an instant was back against the far wall. Through the night, even through the door, she had heard hearts pounding every time a crew member walked past. The first time it happened, she lunged at the door in a frenzy. She wanted to stop the beating. She wanted more than anything to drink blood and make hearts stop. Jack kept her in a corner until she calmed down.

"I'll kill someone," she whispered, her face pale, "I know it. I know I will! I can't go out there!"

Eventually, Jack convinced her that she would be alright. It was nothing he said that convinced her that she would be fine outside with the crew—it was the beating. It had stopped long before she had fallen asleep and hadn't come back. She could hear the crew calling to one another, but not a single heartbeat. She relaxed. It was so much easier to repress her thirst for blood when she didn't hear dozens of heartbeats in her head, each one a different rhythm and all begging to be stopped.

He gave her a _very _severe warning about not laying a hand on _anyone. _After all, their sickness must not spread, he had insisted. Unfortunately, it did and there was nothing either of them could do about it. They found out moments later just how vicious fate could be, for Jack's hand was on the door knob when it was turned from the outside.

"Cap'n... We have a problem," Mr Gibbs said, coming into Jack's room without a second thought. Elizabeth and Jack exchanged a quick look then all three of them stepped out into the garish light of morning and into a living nightmare.

* * *

**:D I am BACK! *does happy dance* Unfortunately, I deleted EVERYTHING I HAD FOR THIS FANFIC! 40,000 + words _gone from my computer!_ o_o I didn't realize this 'till, uh, like two days ago and by then it was too late and I couldn't rescue my documents. _ Fortunately, I found an ancient version of the whole fic so... I won't have to rewrite everything. o_o Man, am I mad at myself! **

**Please bear with me, everything will be revealed in time.  
**

**~~Review Replies~~**

**Beautiful Disaster (sorry for shortening your penname again. lol) **YAY! HERES THE NEXT CHAPTER! :) Hopefully, I can have the next one up soon. . . :)

**Morgan Bonny** Yes... I feel quite bad for Will and Gibbs too. :'( Yes, surrey. I'll make it all make sense SOON. :D Pinky promise. lol. I hope I can keep everyone in character... it's getting harder and harder. o_O p.s. I love your pen-name, sounds like a pirate name. ;)

**Cheatou **Nope, haven't abandoned it. :) Thank you for reviewing! ;D


	9. Chapter 9

While Jack and Elizabeth had spent the night scrubbing down his room mayhem had taking hold of the Pearl and it was all Will's fault. Will had caved in and turned Gibbs. He could have waited. He could have made it to port and fed off an animal—but he didn't and he turned Gibbs. It may have been better to just let him die. There is nothing more dangerous than a newly turned vampyre. The crew would find that out soon.

When Gibbs left the room he was furious. Too furious to notice where he was going or focus on anything other than his anger at Will. He stopped. He was on deck. The wind whipped his hair into his eyes and pulled on his clothes but he didn't notice. _Dead_. He was dead? His eyes were wide and haunted. He stilled his lungs and laid a wrinkled hand over his heart that wasn't pounding anymore. Dead. He was dead. Without a warning he threw back his head and screamed into the night. He knew his superstitions well. He was a vampyre.

Unfortunately, it was Ragetti who had the bad luck to walk past him just then. When he was done Gibbs let the body drop to the deck. It made a dull thud. His thirst wasn't slaked... it was greater. Whatever humanity left in him was devoured the same way every living being was he came across that night. He had forgotten about Ragetti (he'd never liked the slimy git much anyway), but he remembered how he had been turned and was malicious enough to turn everyone he attacked. When he was done he wandered back to the deck, tripping over his first victim. With little effort he hoisted Ragetti's body and tossed it over the side. Without a scream Ragetti had died. He sank beneath the surface; a perfect watery blue view of the sunrise—not that _he_ saw it, mind you.

* * *

"Demons!" A voice shrieked. The voice belonged to Anamaria. And she was scared. She was surrounded by demons wearing the faces of her friends. She cursed. She knew she shouldn't have come aboard the blasted ship. She jabbed the air with her dagger, backing away from the crew.

"Calm down! We won't hurt you..." Will said soothingly, holding out his hands to show that he wasn't armed and didn't mean her any harm. (Whether or not that was true it didn't matter) She had climbed onto the railing and was holding onto a line, brandishing a dagger. It was a lovely picture really, Her standing there holding onto the rope, her hair blowing around from beneath her hat as the sun rose behind her. She was going to jump.

"I'll go get the Captain..." Gibbs muttered, walking toward the captain's cabin. He wasn't looking forward to Sparrow's reaction to all of his crew becoming vampyres.

Gibbs opened the door and barged in, stomping right past a startled Jack and Elizabeth. He raised his eyebrows. It wasn't unusual for him to find a woman in Jack's cabin in the morning, but Elizabeth? He shook his head.

"Cap'n... We have a problem" Gibbs said very solemnly. He caught the confused look the two shared but didn't give it much thought. Steeling himself for whatever reaction he would get he told Jack all of the events of the night as quickly as possible—he didn't want Anamaria to jump. Astonishingly all that Jack did was stand up (they had all sat down—Gibbs' advice)and walk onto the deck, a remarkably...serious expression on his face. Even more surprising to Gibbs though, was the fact that Elizabeth looked... relieved and followed Jack not looking the least bit uneasy.

"Anamaria!" Jack called. She looked at him, lowering her dagger a little—not sure if he was a demon too.

"Not a good idea, luv."

"Come on, give me your hand and we'll go talk..." He stepped closer, extended his hand.

"Tell me what's wrong, luv." He took another step closer.

"They're demons!" She hissed, pointing at the crew standing behind her captain. Jack gave Gibbs a quick glance before forcing a lighthearted smile onto his face.

"That's ridiculous! Give me your hand... you just need to talk to someone that's all..."Another step.

"What makes you think they're demons?" She was almost within reaching distance. He knew he could pull her off the railing in a heartbeat if he wanted too, any of them could, but he didn't want to startle her.

"Blood." She grimaced at the word, Jack remembered that as tough as she was she had never been able to stomach the sight of it. Jack fought the burning desire to smile at the sound of the word.

"They were drinking it." She was obviously horrified at the thought. She knew the stories just as well as they all did. Tales of creatures rising from their graves, stealing into houses and killing you where you lay, draining your blood then slinking off into the night to do it again. Jack caught hold of her hand and lifted her down to the deck. He didn't need to help her down but a sinister, new part of him had wanted to feel her pulse through her skin and clothes.

He pushed those thoughts away and removed his hands. He gestured toward his cabin.

"Tell ol' Jack all about it, luv." He said. Anamaria edged around the crew walking as far away from them as she could and opened the door to Jack's room.

"Be there in a moment, darlin'." He called, even giving her an encouraging wave with his hand. When the door closed he turned to Gibbs, looking grave.

"We can lock her up Jack." Gibbs said, answering Jack's unspoken question. Jack shook his head. She would cause a whole lot of trouble in the hold and be out by night fall. She would either have to die, _really_ die, or become one of them. Jack sighed.

"I'll turn her." he muttered. Gibbs didn't look surprised. By how they were acting, Jack and Elizabeth were vampyres just as much as he was one.

"Aye, Cap'n." Jack disappeared into the cabin. The deck was silent. No one liked anyone's company at the moment... given the circumstances and the crew separated and went about their various duties, the wind in the sails the only sound.

* * *

Anamaria had made herself comfortable on one of Jack's chairs. Delicate mouth pulled down into a frown. He was much more tempted by her blood than by her beauty however and took a seat as far away. He had no intention of turning her but had noticed how the crew was eyeing her. Like a slab of meat. So they talked for awhile, both steering carefully away from her demon worries and the truth behind the matter.

Jack was amazed at how difficult he was finding it to not attack the woman. The entire time they had been talking all he could hear was her heart pounding. Though a part of him must have been aware of what they were talking about because whenever she asked him a question he was able to give a suitable answer. She looked as if she felt very safe in his presence. In his mind he was screaming at her to run away. Get out of this room and off this ship.

He didn't know how much longer she would be safe with him.

* * *

Anamaria had calmed down considerably in Jack's presence. She didn't feel the, the evil emanating off the man like she had with the others. Instead it was a rather comforting presence she felt when she was with him. She had been surprised (and incredibly relieved) when Jack didn't bring up what she had been screaming on deck. But even the best things must end and she wasn't too upset when he finally started talking about it.

"Anamaria, darlin'. How's about tellin' me why you're so scared of my crew all of a sudden? You've never been scared of 'em before, luv." Jack asked. She was quiet for a while.

"Where were you last night Jack?" She asked.

"Here, luv." He said. Anamaria sighed then explained to him how she had been woken up in the middle of the night by the sounds of screaming. Her voice cracked as she told him about how she had slipped in one o' the Pearl's cramped hallways and landed in blood. When she got up Gibbs was killing a crew mate and drinking his blood.

He walked over to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"It's alright luv. It was probably your imagination. That's all. There's nothing to be afraid of here..."

If she hadn't been so choked up by what she was telling him she would have noticed how he was looking at her. Not that she could have done much. But she never looked up and was on the floor dead and drained of blood in minutes.

* * *

The sun rose higher into the sky, a painful small orb drowning in the empty blue sky that stretched on forever over the somber Black Pearl. The sunlight burned and burned until it eventually became unbearable and Gibbs went below deck with the rest of the crew. There was an awkward silence that stretched on for a long time.

"'ello!" A voice said in surprise. Everyone turned at once to see Jack at the door.

"What's me crew doin' here all couped up for?" Jack muttered, but it was more of a rhetorical question.

"The sun. It hurts." Pintel said, with a pained look on his face.

"Ah!" Jack turned around, looking out the door and into the sky as if he had never seen it before.

"Oh. So it does my good man... so it does..." He muttered into the door frame, swaying erratically so that he had to grab hold of the door to keep from toppling backward down the steps and landing in an undignified position and whatnot.

"And Ana, Jack?" Gibbs asked slowly, not sure if he wanted to find out or not.

"Just a mo'" Jack muttered to the door frame then turned on his heels and left.

"Is 'e drunk?" Pintel asked, (the question was on everyone's mind) "'ow'd that 'appen...?"  
Gibbs shrugged. Jack came back, carrying Anamaria. She wasn't moving. He set her down gently then backed away gingerly... and hightailed it out of there, rushing onto the deck.

". . . Goodbye!"

"Wha' was that for?"Gibbs muttered to himself under his breath, Pintel shrugged in response. Pintel was standing on the far side of the room.

"I'm not goin' ta be there when she wakes up, savvy?" Jack answered, shouting from the deck. Gibbs had forgotten that the others had just as good hearing as he had.

"Aye Captain!" Gibbs said, following Jack's lead and walking up the stairs toward the deck. He didn't want to be within reaching distance when the woman woke up. He frowned. She wouldn't be happy at all.  
Jack rushed past Gibbs, patting his arms gingerly as Gibbs stared, his face as blank as a sheet of paper.

"Bloody sun..." Jack muttered. The crew dispersed, wandering off in different directions, all staying below deck. They would return to their duties when the sun went down.

"Mr Gibbs." Jack said once everyone had left the area. He picked up a half empty bottle of rum and stared at it mournfully.

"Aye?"

"Is everyone on this vessel..." Jack waved his hands in a general motion.

"-evil, spawn of the devil, cursed by Satan himself, damned for all eternity." Gibbs supplied. Jack glared

"Yes, that."

"Aye."

"Oh bugger..." With that Jack began walking away, heading toward his cabin for some much needed alone time.

"Er, Jack?" Gibbs said. Jack turned, swaying on his feet.

"What's with the..." Gibbs did a horrible impression of Jack's swagger.

"Surely ye can't be...?"

"Oh shut up. Ruin a man's fun, will you?" Jack snapped, picking the bottle of rum up again, gazing at it with a woebegone expression that would almost move you to tears.

"A fella can pretend, can't 'e?" He sighed, setting the bottle down again. Oh how he missed the tears of his tankard. He gave the bottle o' rum a lonely eye for a long time before saying anything.

"Everyone...?" Jack muttered.

"Aye."

Jack cursed mightily and stormed off to his room.

* * *

Will frowned and threw himself into a chair. He stared at the walls, seeing nothing. He was mad at everyone, especially himself. If only he had restrained himself Gibbs wouldn't have killed half of the crew and resurrected them as vampyres. And Elizabeth. He frowned again. There wasn't much he could have done there. It looked like Jack had turned her too.

What had caused this though? Will thought back to the previous day. What had been different? He hadn't been a vampyre before yesterday, he was sure of that. The only thing that he could put a vague finger on was the appearance of that bracelet. But it was just a bracelet. A bracelet never killed anyone. Mm, but _he_ had. Will's thoughts took a grisly turn and he wasn't disturbed by it in the least.

Blood. He longed for it so furiously that he could almost taste it in his mouth and feel in running down his throat. His senses were absorbed with it and before he knew what he was doing he was plotting how to get his hands on another victim. He wanted to be in control again. Mm. He couldn't wait.


	10. Chapter 10

**I found the rest of this story in an old email account. It was just sitting there so I figured I might as well post what I had left. I haven't edited this. **

* * *

Curse it all! Jack thought, wanting to scream it to all the world. He wanted to brutally beat it into the minds of every living person on the earth. Curse it, curse it, curse it all! This time he did yell, an inarticulate scream that would freeze the blood of any living thing who heard it. But it didn't do that—... there wasn't a blasted living thing on this ship anymore!

He screamed again, pounding his fist into the wall of his cabin. The wood splintered, cutting into his skin and bringing out blood as he continued to pound the same place in the wall over and over again. He had been allowed by fate to get out of one curse, the Aztec gold, and had waltzed into another one, with nearly everyone he knew dragged into it.

His hand was an aching, bloody mess. The smell was intoxicating to him, sending a shiver of pleasure up his spine with its rich, coppery smell. No longer able to ignore it he brought his bloodied hand to his mouth, licking off the blood and savoring the sensation as it bathed his tongue and ran down his throat, coating his mouth and satisfying him—briefly. The intense thirst never went away no matter how much blood he drank.

He had been satisfied after he took Elizabeth's blood... or maybe too sickened with himself to feel the thirst tearing into him. But the instant he had shut the door of his cabin and all he could hear was the pounding of Anamaria's heart so... close to him... the agonizing thirst had rushed back into him and flooding his senses until all he knew was her living scent and the sound of her heart beating... Jack cursed again, picked up the first thing his hand touched and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. The object made a loud (but dull) thud against the wall. What he was now, this creature, was tearing apart who he was. Bringing the very worst aspects of his personality into the light (so to speak) and augmenting them until everything 'good' about him (for Captain Jack Sparrow hadn't honestly been called a good man in a long, long time) was gone, eaten away by what he was becoming.

For the next hour Jack waged a horrid war in his mind, fighting to hold onto even a figment of what had been good about him, traits that he had known so intimately only a day before. But in the mist of his mind, the goodness within him was fading fast, a flickering phantasm that twisted out of shape the more he looked at it and slipped through his fingers like a morning fog does under a garish, rising sun that wounds it till there isn't even a hint of what it had once been.

When Jack finally left his room he wasn't the same person who had entered a good hour before. Even in that short time he had become a little more twisted and wicked despite his dying efforts to preserve who he had been. At least he had decided what he needed to do to remedy the situation. The Pearl needed to change course. If Jack's hunch was right (and it probably was, for Jack's hunches were rarely wrong) then his old friend would be exactly where he thought she would be—and hopefully wearing the guise that had aided and satisfied him in his past. (What? Sparrow hadn't changed entirely.) Tia Dalma. They were going to see Tia Dalma.

Almost everyone was fine with visiting the goddess when Jack explained where they were headed to now. Everyone was just as anxious as him to be rid of this curse as soon as possible and weren't too picky about whom they had to go to for. Almost everyone for just when Jack finished his speech Pintel rushed on deck.

"Captain! It's Anamaria. She's waking up!"

"Oh bugger."

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"Jack Sparrow!" A sultry, low voice muttered into the darkness the instant Sparrow set foot in the crowded little tree house. Jack stepped aside to make room for Gibbs, Will, and Elizabeth. No one else dared to set foot in the temperamental goddess's house.

"And ye brought some old friends too..." Tia Dalma muttered, stepping into the light and glaring at all four of them.

"So," She turned to Jack. "Got ye self cursed again, have ye?" She stated, her words even more chilling to the ears because of her thick accent. She pointed to some chairs and her guests sat down. She paced in front of them, staring deep into their eyes.

"I'd like to know how ye knew I'd be 'ere Jack... but that's for another time..."

"You." She jabbed a finger into Gibbs' face. "Get out!" Gibbs didn't need to be told twice and he was gone. She turned to Jack and cocked her head to the side.

"Give me your wrist, Sparrow." She cooed, holding out her hand to take Jack's. She slipped the copper bracelet off of his wrist and dangled it in the air. Will watched it and Tia Dalma caught his gaze and smiled humorously.

"Just as I thought!" She muttered, turning around and pawing through a towering stack of books and papers shoved haphazardly into a corner of the room. While flipping through the papers she began talking to them.

"This." She waved the bracelet in the air briefly. "You know it William Turner?"

"Of course you do." She answered for him. "You went a little... mad, yes?"

"Of course you did." She said again. Turning on her heels quickly and giving him a reproachful look.

"Don't think I don't know what you wanted to do Turner..." She said slowly and threateningly. She fished a battered, old blue book out of the pile and began flipping through it. Jack couldn't see what she was going on about or why the bracelet was so-

"Important? Jack! This is the most important thing in your.. life, right now Sparrow so don't you lose sight of it..." Tia Dalma muttered, getting a startled jump from Jack because she had finished his thought for him.

"Aha!" She shoved the book into Jack's face. Her finger was resting on a reprinting of a portrait. It was of a beautiful woman in an old fashioned red dress.

"The bracelet belonged to this woman. Know her face Jack."

"Who is she?" Jack murmured, committing the woman's face to memory.

"The Bloody Countess." Jack had no reaction to that.  
"And that?" He said, meaning the bracelet.  
"This belonged to her. Elizabeth Bathory. She... acquired it at the beginning of her evil deeds. She was one of the cruelest to walk this earth. This," She twirled the bracelet once. "has taken on the characteristics of the woman. Her twisted thoughts, thirst for blood and power, her murderous temper-"  
"And?" Will said, impatient.  
"I was getting there." Tia Dalma snapped.  
"When you put it on," She slipped it back onto Jack's wrist. "as a human, you become tainted by it. Taking on Bathory's vampyric tendencies. Remove it." She took it off. "and you die only to rise again and walk the earth as a vampyre." Her head turned sharply to Will.  
"Is that enough for you Turner?" She asked waspishly. She wasn't too fond of him at the moment. He nodded stiffly, frowning at the woman.  
"You three were turned directly by wearing this?" She said. It was a statement, not a question.  
"So you are much stronger and faster than those you sired. Are you following this?" She asked Will. He scowled.  
"Be careful. They are having a much harder time controlling themselves." She looked at Will. She wandered into a back room. She came back holding a large raven.  
"Don't believe me?" She said. She picked up a dagger from a cluttered table and stabbed the bird. The raven cried out in pain then hobbled around on the table when Tia Dalma set it down. Fresh blood spattered the table beneath its feet. Though each of them wanted to, none of them grabbed the bird.  
"Watch." Tia Dalma picked up the wounded raven, cradling it in her arms. She stepped to the window and threw the bird out of it. Each of them had a good view of what happened next. The raven had barely started flying over the boat (they had managed to cram everyone into one) when everyone as one jumped up reaching for the bird, screaming and tearing it apart. Everyone inside was silent. Tia Dalma made a disgusted sound and went to her back room. She came back holding another raven. She crooned to it.  
"Shh, shh... It's alright. You are fine now, pretty." She said, holding it and rocking it in her arms. It was the same raven.  
"Watch yourselves. The more lives you take vampyrically, the more you will lose yourself and the longer it will take for you to recover." She warned them.  
"Recover?" Jack repeated. "So what can we do?"  
"Do not lose this." She gave Jack the bracelet, even wrapped it around his wrist for him. The farther you are from it the more you will lose who you were and the harder it will be to hold onto what's left of your humanity and not go mad with blood lust.  
"Now leave me. You are darkening the atmosphere of this place." She said shooing them out.  
"Jack Sparrow! A word." He stopped walking and closed the door quietly.  
"They can wait for you." She said smiling and pulling him to a chair.  
"Now. How did you come across this item?" She asked. So he told her. She looked harsh and somber at his words.  
"It is your responsibility to fix the problem Sparrow. You don't want her deeds on her conscience. If you hurry maybe you can save a single soul in that town." She said cryptically. She pushed him out the door. Gibbs, Elizabeth, and Will were in the boat waiting for him. Jack sighed. Back at the Pearl they changed course again, heading toward Ava and the worn seraglietto by the sea.

* * *

The seraglietto was just as derelict albeit drastically more lifeless the second time he set foot in it. He could smell the old blood before he opened the door and knew that his hunch was right. Vampyre or not he wasn't entirely prepared for what he saw when he opened the door. There were bodies everywhere. Nothing moved. Every face he saw was death white—drained of blood and contorted in grimaces of pain and agony. He stepped through the mass of bodies as quietly as inhumanly possible, listening.

If Tia Dalma was right, Ava would be nearly as strong, fast, and bloodthirsty as him. The only difference was that because she had been separated from the bracelet for so long she was so much more ferocious, carnal, and bloodthirsty than him. (Which was saying a lot.) Before setting foot in the seraglietto Jack had been having second thoughts. He had liked Ava and didn't want to have to kill her. But after seeing what she had done unchecked he had no choice.

He didn't hear anything until a second before she leaped at him from behind a standing wardrobe. Grabbing her wrists (they were just as slender and cool to the touch as he remembered) he used her momentum against her throwing her to the floor and sitting on top of her. After a brief struggle (and much more effort on his part then he would ever admit) he wrested a dagger from her hand and threw it as hard as he could. There was a loud twain as the dagger stuck hilt deep into the wall.

"Do you know who I am?" Jack asked.

There was no recognition in her black, black eyes. There was a thin red line around the pupils of her eyes and she looked like she was about to scream. She started shaking and screaming, trying to break free of Jack's grasp. No matter what he said to her or how calm he tried to be he could get nothing rational out of her. He was hesitating again, not sure if he could kill her. All it took was a glance into the torn, white face of a dead woman and his hands were wrapped around Ava's neck. He leaned onto her more, holding her down with his weight. Next to them on the floor was a chair. Quickly he broke off a chair leg. Without another moment of hesitation he thrust the wood through her heart as hard as he could, pinning her to the dirty floor.

He stood up, brushed some dust off of his shoulder. He walked over to the wall and pulled out the girl's dagger. In a quarter the time it takes to breath in he had cut off the vampyre's head and was picking his way through the still, silent, mass of bodies. He left the seraglietto and never looked back. He felt nothing about what he had just done. No relief, happiness, anger or guilt. Nothing. Nothing at all.  
LINE HERE  
Elizabeth had declined Jack's offer to come ashore with him. (She more of screamed it, really) Though being on land would have done her some good what she needed most was just some time to think through what was happening to her life and whether or not she really wanted to bother fighting to preserve who she had been. She frowned and then sighed, banging her forehead once against the main mast she was leaning against.  
She had felt so relieved when she found out that everyone else had been turned too that she had forgotten to be upset about what she had become. Then she had gotten lost in it. Gotten too used to being able to lay in her hammock below deck and hear the waves hit the side of the Pearl and someone pacing in a room on the opposite side of the ship. She was much too used to her vampyric abilities now and her new power that she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to go back to how she had been days ago.  
LINE HERE  
Jack was back on the Pearl at sunrise and the Pearl turned to the sea. It wasn't long when the crew approached him and asked what had to be done to end the curse. Jack did his best to summarize what Tia Dalma had told them (leaving out the bracelet and all the grim details surrounding it). Eventually he told them that killing the bloody countess would change them all back to how they were.  
"Her name Jack?" Someone asked. It was an important detail that no one wanted left out.  
'Bathory." He hissed, venom dripping from the word. He passionately loathed the name and having to speak it was like willingly jerking a large, hot fishing hook through his flesh over and over again.

"We find her! She started this. If we kill her this... this... curse will be ended!" He said, not raising his voice. He didn't need to, every eye was on him and though he whispered he was clearly heard.

Gibbs stepped forward, wearing a face Jack had seen many times before—Gibbs was going to offer one of his superstitious bits of wisdom to them. His first mate hadn't even begun to talk and Jack was sure that he wouldn't like what he would say.

"... Theres been word though, Jack." He began in a somber voice, pausing to look into the pale faces around him.

"... Heard the bloody lady was sealed up in her room... bricked up she was... just enough holes to breath and have food brought to 'er... Sealed up alone for an awfully long, long time..." Gibbs voice was grim and low. He hated the woman almost as much as Jack did.

"Heard she died, she did... Dead and buried... Been dead for a long, long ti-" He stopped speaking. To the casual observer, he or she would have seen no reason why Gibbs would stop speaking. Gibbs had been watching Jack warily but there hadn't been any sign from Jack to make him stop—no raised hand, no frown, anything of that nature that would make him want to stop talking—no sign to the casual, human, observer that is. But Gibbs was no longer human, none of them were. And he had felt rather then see a sign from Jack. He had felt a very menacing aura from the man that made him stop. He was angry. Jack was very, very angry. He didn't show it though, and that made it so much more terrible.

"She died?" Jack repeated, slowly, in an even tone that didn't hint at all what he felt about Gibbs' words.

"Mr Gibbs!"

"...Aye?" He said tentatively, wary of Jack's very calm voice.

"Are... you... alive Mr Gibbs?" Jack asked, conversationally it seemed, but Gibbs knew better.

"...No Cap'n, I'm not..." He answered quietly, seeing where this was going and not liking it at all. Being on Jack's bad side had never been a good thing before but now... ? Gibbs winced... things were different. Jack was different. A menacing, deadly presence that would rip out his throat without so much as batting an eye.

"Ah! I see!" Jack said. "And anyone else on this... magnificent vessel..." He gestured to everyone on deck with his arms, pausing for effect and his signature swaying.

"Are any one of them alive Mr Gibbs?"

"... No Cap'n..." He said, shrinking slightly under Jack's friendly gaze.

"Then why do you assume that because she is dead that finding her won't help us?" Jack said softly. Gibbs had only blinked and Jack was suddenly standing directly in front of him. Sparrow hadn't made a sound when he moved and Gibbs jumped, startled.

"The fact that people say she is dead is even more proof that killing her will help us." He said.

"They say she was buried though... so she must really be dead—not like us..." Gibbs said, aggravated that Jack was making a fool out of him.

"Killing her is the only way to break this curse... "Jack interrupted.

"Aye." Gibbs said, suddenly in fear for his life. If he was even allowed to call his existence now, life.

Jack smiled, a split second later Gibbs was staring down the muzzle of Jack's gun.

"Now. You're dead Mr Gibbs... Aye? "He said, still using a friendly, conversational tone. Jack cocked the gun.

"Can you die? Right now?" Gibbs was trying to decide whether answering would increase his chances for survival or not when Jack answered for him.

"Yes. You can. Ava did... though not by this gun." Jack muttered, glum at having to bring up Ava.

"And so can Bathory." Jack said, spitting out the last name like it burned him to speak it aloud. It would have been better if it did. Burn him that is. At least then he would have had something else to focus on (even if only for a moment) then his convoluted obsession with murdering the woman who had, in essence, taking his life and every thing that had made him happy.

"Change course Mr Gibbs. We're going to Europe..."


End file.
